Leaves
by fine-feathered
Summary: How does God write poetry for the one he loves? In irritating miracles apparently. AU set after S6. PWP.


Life has four seasons.

Birth, growth, decay, death.

Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter.

But not everything starts in the same way.

Castiel began in Summer.

Hot and unrelenting like the sun, burning with a righteous fury. A halo of feathers, like a tree in full Summer. Shading bright blue eyes from the ugliness of his Father's creation and absence.

During the apocalypse, his feathers began to drop. Like water seeping through a hairline crack, his faith began to trickle away. As his faith ebbed, his power began to rot and decay, leaving him weak and feverish. In Autumn.

Then Castiel fell. Fell with a million souls inside of him.

Fell into Winter.

So bottomless, so devoid of light he could have sworn that his eyes had been sealed shut since birth. He forgot what light looked like.

Yet they're still there, those persistent leaves, those clinging feathers.  
>And he can't seem to let them go.<p>

ΩΩΩ

Dean would have thought, that with Heaven's new CEO, that there would have been some changes down here in the mud and grit, on Earth.

But the whiskey that slipped from the bottle and pooled in the bottom of the glass was the same. The news report on the dusty television was the same. The sharp tang of whiskey that prickled his tongue and sinuously slid down his throat was the same as well.

In the corner of his eye, Dean watched Sam get into bed. Back turned against him. Actually, there had been a change.

Sam had stopped praying.

But Dean, he thought about praying.

Ringing the soul phone.

He never did.

ΩΩΩ

They'd thought it was a Wendigo. An unidentified creature had been butchering hikers in a local forest, and all the reports had fitted the profile perfectly.

Fast, strong, smart, evil.  
>They'd come with blowtorches, flares and bottles filled with potent alcohol.<p>

They hadn't brought salt. Or Ruby's knife.  
>It had been the perfect trap and they'd walked right into that black-eyed bitch.<p>

She smiled at them, and laughed. Had planted her hands on her hips and breathed in deeply, a blissful smile stretching from ear to ear.

Neither Sam nor Dean panicked; it wasn't as though traps were a new thing for them. Squaring his shoulders Sam met the eyes of the demon and began to rattle off an exorcism, with Dean standing at his side to protect him. The demon hissed and convulsed, spine twisting and contorting like a string puppet caught in the wind.

Yet she made no move to stop them, and Dean's eyebrows rose with surprise.

With a terrible effort the demon reached into her heavy black jacket and pulled out a 9mm pistol.

Sam closed his eyes but never stopped chanting, but this was a quick draw he could never win. The sound of the bullet discharging echoed through the trees, bouncing off flaking bark and sending birds fluttering into the sky.

The last few words of the ritual fell from Sam's mouth even as blood flecked his lips and his legs gave way.

Neither of them spared a glance to the sparking black mass that was vomited from the woman's mouth.

Panic. Dean went numb. Bones stiff, blood cold, throat closed. Acidic, bitter bile ebbed onto his tongue.

There was so much blood. It oozed into a deathly halo around Sam's body, a cloak that weaved its way through the rotting forest litter. Kneeling into that sickly warm carpet, Dean's hands shook with the cold dread that filled his gut.

Shaking fingers found purchase on Sam's face, smearing droplets of blood that baptised Sam in approaching death.

With a gentle tap and an urgent call of Sam's name, Dean tried to make his brother open his eyes. To see that struggling ember of life burning deep in his brother's eyes was more than he could ask for.

"Sammy!" He cried again, hot tears flooding to the cusps of his eyelids. Levering him off from the ground, Dean held Sam in his arms; he could feel faint breaths against the bare skin of his throat. But even now they were fading, becoming less frequent with every moment that passed.

Dean huffed in a breath, the smell of copper cloying in his mouth with an ailing familiarity. He had been here, on his stiff knees, cradling his dying brother far too often.

There was only one option left to him.

He was desperate, he had to, there was no other choice.

Throwing away the last of his pride, the remnants of anger and dark grudges, Dean flicked his eyes to the leafy canopy and prayed. Prayed that the new god would come, outstretch his hand of pale ivory and suffuse their holy light.

"C'mon", Dean whispered, breath hovering in a cloud before his chapped lips.

Emerald eyes scanned the forest, hovering from each shadowy space to the next. But the flutter of wings that heralded his saviors' arrival never came, the autumn leaves never stirred in the silent forest.

"Don't do this to me Cas, not now." The words escaped him in one stricken huff, and Dean felt his heartstrings snapping with the loss of his last hope. Sam shuddered in his arms, his breath wet and rattling as he struggled against death.

"Do what Dean?"

And there he was, as if he had always been there. A marble statue crafted by Greek artisans standing in the shade of the trees.

"You prayed for me." It wasn't a question, but Castiel still tilted his head in that hawk-like fashion, whilst confusion was clearly written on the corrugated lines of his forehead.

Dean nearly sobbed in relief.

Yet Castiel didn't move and through Dean's blurring eyes he seemed to float away, further and further into the dark depths of the forest. It was as if Dean had downed a bottle whiskey, where perspective and distance became surreal.

"You only prayed because you were desperate." The new god murmured, "only when you were faced with no other choice."

"I need you Cas." Dean uttered, fingers clenching on Sam's shoulder, spreading more blood over his jacket.

Castiel's lip quirked, a bitter smirk threatening to surface. "There's no room left in your life for anyone but Sam, I see that now."

Dean's head whipped up – distinct, wild, liquid eyes bored into Castiel's. "That's bullshit Cas and you know it."

And in that moment Castiel believed him. The invisible tendons of Castiel's wings shivered and twitched. The soul of a new god trembled in the small cask of a mortal's body.

Dean stared at him, lips tight and eyes burning.

With a sigh, and a subtle twitch of his wrist Castiel granted Dean's prayers.

Gasping and spluttering for breath, Sam sat up and looked around blearily, as if he were awakening from a terrible nightmare.

A smile blossomed over Dean's lips as he let Sam wriggle his way out of Dean's arms. All the adrenaline left Dean in that moment and he let his hands fall to the crisp dead leaves of the forest floor.

Dean squinted into the gloom, but god wasn't there.

ΩΩΩ

As Sam lay sleeping on cheap motel sheets, Dean sat on the edge of his bed and clasped his hands.

It wasn't a prayer, it was just the thanks he owed.

ΩΩΩ

The motel television hummed to life, lighting the dim room with its sporadic glow. Commercials advertising a local water park filled the room with the sounds of splashing and children giggling. Even now Dean couldn't help but shudder as recollections of Lilith and countless other ghosts and monsters sprang to mind. It was as if the supernatural enjoyed fucking with things that should have been innocent.

Settling themselves onto the pine chairs, Sam and Dean began to rummage through the paper bags of food, fingers greasy with salted fries and warm burgers.

_"Our breaking story tonight…Numerous Christian places of worship and iconography are displaying what some are calling a miracle. Not only this, but it has also been reported that abandoned churches and chapels are quite literally springing to life, with trees and plants sprouting from the structures. But this has yet to be confirmed. _

_Here's Carey on scene at a small church in Kentucky with more on the developing story."_

Dean and Sam immediately looked to each other; shock clearly stamped on both of their faces. Neither of them said a word or ate their food as they watched the images flick onto the news report.

A close up of a life sized marble saint came into focus. The statue's head was bowed as if in prayer and one hand clutched at the flowing robe above his heart whilst the other held a stone scroll. The camera panned to the saint's arm, revealing a stark crimson spot of dripping blood, which scintillated over the elegant ripples of curved fabric.

The eye of the camera remained inert as a pattern began to form. Soon, five distinct lines of blood began to emerge, which were attached to a large smudge. The rest of the blood dried and flaked away, leaving the statue pristine except for the bloody pattern that seemed to glow and pulse as though it were hot to the touch.

"Is that..?" Sam began, eyes widening.

Dean didn't say anything; there was no mistaking that it was a bloody handprint, he felt his own branded mark pulse in response.

ΩΩΩ

Dean awoke the next morning to the erratic tapping of computer keys. Burying his face in his pillow Dean tried to ignore the noise, but the thick smell of dust and bitter stench of sweat emanating from his pillow prevented him from relaxing. With a groan Dean turned over to glare at the green numbers on the digital clock. 6:14.

"So," Sam began without even glancing in Dean's direction, "these weeping statues have been observed for a number of years now, but most of them seem to be hoaxes. In fact the earliest accepted weeping statue was in 1949."

"Dude, it's way too early for your nerdy crap."

Rolling his eyes, Sam turned back to his laptop and clicked sporadically for a few seconds but then stopped, pursed his lips, and fixed Dean with _that _look.

Dean hates that look.

"What?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, but Dean knew better. Sam was just warming up before he launched into a speech that Dean just knew he'd been rehearsing in his head for the past hour.

"I don't know man. You think this is Cas doing all this? Trying to get, y'know…the unbelievers faithful, stuff like that."

Oh and if that wasn't laden with thinly concealed euphemisms.

"Sammy, stop, I know what you're thinking but this ain't got nothing to do with me."

Sam nodded, skepticism oozing from every pore.

"Then you won't mind if we check out a local, rundown church then."

Throwing up his hands in defeat, Dean mumbled several choice phrases as he stumbled over to the bathroom to get ready.

ΩΩΩ

The Impala rumbled along the back road, bouncing over holes and rocks eliciting a hiss from Dean every time. Sam did his best to maintain his patience as the car moved at a snail's pace. Sam stared out the window vacantly, watching the empty fields and shrubbery on either side of the road crawl by. Minutes later and the Impala rounded a gentle bend in the road, revealing the church.

The car rolled to a stop, but Dean left the engine idling as they both stared out at the church.

"The hell..?" Dean uttered, finally coming back to himself long enough to park the Impala and pocket his keys in one practiced motion.

Clearing his throat, Sam shook his head in disbelief, "let's go check it out."

Stepping out the car, Dean and Sam moved to the trunk, arming themselves with shotguns, knives, holy water and pouches of salt. The irony didn't fail to strike either of them.

Walking the last few meters to the church, they finally got a better look at what was supposed to be a decrepit and rotting structure.

Glossy brown branches spouted from the pointed roof, shading the church from the harsh midday sun with a thick canopy of vibrant green leaves.

Dean reached out to the door, hesitant to touch the wrought iron loop. Steeling himself Dean reached out and gripped the cool metal, shivering slightly at the odd tingling sensation that lanced through his arm at the contact.

The doors creaked open, sunlight spilling over them and into the gloom of the church.

Leaves were all around in a grand canopy that hung above their heads. Leaves flitted down silently, like flakes of dust in filtered light.

Shining gold and emerald leaves brushed them as they walked side by side into the church. The interior branches were elegantly arched and even as he watched Dean spied delicate twigs forming on old beams.

Tiny leaves unfurled themselves and silver acorns burst into being in a matter of seconds.

It was beautiful and epic.

Dean's hair stood on end as he stepped further in, Sam voiceless at his side. The church was quickly turning into a self-contained forest. It was as if nature itself was offering the new god its own benediction.

Yet deep down in his heart of hearts he knew this was Castiel reaching out to him, giving him a sign;

_You are the valley I am the trees._  
><em>We are the puzzle that makes this solution. <em>

Sam knew that as well as he did. The bloody handprints on church statues were merely the appetizer. Now they were at the main event.

Walking down the aisle, Sam paused, raising a finger to his lips to signal for silence. Squinting into the darkness Dean spied three kneeing figures, with their backs facing the brothers. One of them turned their face slightly, catching the dagger of sunlight pouring in from the open doors.

Tears spilt like diamonds from its onyx eyes.

The brothers stood aghast at the praying and weeping demons. They were the personifications of piety with the sunlight flickering on their black eyes. All three demons had their hands clasped as they stared up into the canopy of the church.

It was the most disturbing thing that Sam and Dean had ever witnessed.

The demons moaned and licked their lips in prayer, the soft flesh shining with saliva; they could taste salvation thick on the air.

This was a new god, a new chance and now that he's come everyone's a convert.

This new god could provide them salvation. They cried in hope for his gentle hand to pull them from the clinging scabs of Hell's dogmata.

Carefully, Dean took a step forward, not seeing the twig buried under the leaves. The sharp snap made everyone pause, the demons slowly turned to face the brothers.

"Winchesters'" one snarled, lips curling back like a feral dog as she wiped golden hair and tears from her eyes. Pushing herself from her knees and onto her feet, the demon snarled, waves of anger and power radiating off her. Sam glanced to Dean and with a nod, Sam pulled out Ruby's knife and Dean cocked his sawed-off shotgun.

The two remaining demons stood up; a middle aged balding man and a pock faced teenager. The three stood together, and almost simultaneously they began to move forward, fingers curled into tight balls at their sides.

"Now is that anyway to seek forgiveness?" Dean cajoled, bravado painting a smirk onto his lips.

The three demons advanced, eyes wide with rage and hate.  
>Dean raised his gun, shooting the blonde demon square in the chest, the sound a deafening boom that made the panes in the windows quiver. A quick jab to the chest and Sam downed the teenager who screamed in agony as red and orange lights danced like fireworks beneath the demon's skin.<p>

The blonde struggled to her feet and smirked even as blood trickled over the belt of her jeans and faint plumes of smoke still billowed from her wound. Raising her hand, she used her powers to rip the shotgun from Dean's hand.

Cursing, Dean dove for the gun, turning his back on the demon. Claw like fingers racked down his back, tearing fabric and flesh like wet paper. Grunting in pain Dean stumbled forward, body spinning around with the impact. Seizing the moment the demon reached for his throat. Fingers snaked themselves around his neck and squeezed like a vice, sending them both to the floor.

The demon sat on top of him, legs either side of Dean's chest and mouth wide with a sadistic grin. Lungs burning Dean whipped his elbow up, connecting with the brittle cartilage of her nose. Dean felt flesh and bone cave, flinging the demon's head to the side. Pushing her from him, Dean rolled to the side, grabbing his shotgun even as he heard the demon screech in frustration.

Thrusting his arm out, Dean made a blind shot. Warm splatters of blood and flesh flecked his face. Grimacing, Dean clambered to his knees to see the demon writhing in pain on the floor, hands covering the flayed flesh of her face.

Glancing over at Sam, Dean watched as his brother felled the other demon with a quick, efficient slice to the throat. Gargling, the body sank to the floor. Noticing Dean, Sam threw him the knife, which Dean caught effortlessly.

Pulling her hands away from her face, Dean felt vomit rise to his throat as the demon grinned up at him from the bloodied leaf litter. Her lips had been blasted away, teeth hung from pulverized strings of gums and one of her eyes bled profusely from its socket.

"Bye boys" and with that, smoke erupted from her mangled mouth, the smoke slipped out of the church through the slit in the window.

"Shit" Dean murmured as he wiped his hand over his face in an attempt to be rid of the demon's blood. Pivoting on his heel Dean turned to face Sam, who heaved a sigh of relief that the fight was over. "Well, shall we bury these guys now?"

Nodding his agreement, Dean turned to face the three lifeless bodies. It wasn't his fault that these innocent people died, but even that thought didn't help.

He'd had enough of watching people burn.

ΩΩΩ

A silver gibbous moon had risen in the black velvet sky, drenching the branches erupting from the church in an eerie white light. Greasy smoke still wafted from the smoldering remains of the three bodies, now just ash and charred bones.

Sam was the first to walk away, a yawn on his lips as he headed back to the car. There wasn't really anything left for them to do but research. With that thought heavy in his gut, Dean decided to take one last look around before they left.

Slipping into the church again, Dean took a deep lungful of the clean, woody air, a reprieve after the pungent aroma of burning human hair and skin.

Sitting down on one of the pews, Dean stared down at the front of the church, watching as fresh green ivy began to snake its way around a set of brass candelabra.

He felt his eyes closing, the peace of the place washing over him and lulling him to sleep.

`````  
>A fresh gust of wind roused Dean from his sleep, Hunter's instincts telling him he wasn't alone.<p>

Castiel sat next to him on the bench, his pale hands splayed on his suit pants.

"Hello Dean."

Relaxing again, Dean stretched out his legs and wiped the grit from his eyes.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked, suspicion growing in the quiet.

"Asleep in the car" answered Castiel, "he was as tired as you were."

Standing, Dean stepped away from the pew, arms folded over his chest as he looked down at Cas.

"What the fuck is this all about Cas?" said Dean; head nodding at the church and eyebrows quirking with the question. "Is this some weird game you're playing? Trying to get people riled up with all this religious bogus?"

Castiel's brows knitted together as he stared down into his lap. "No."

Unfolding his arms Dean shrugged dramatically, "so what is it then?"

Finally, Castiel looked up at Dean, a playful smirk animating face.

That was the final straw.

Dean lunged forward, latching onto the lapels of Castiel's trench coat to pull the new god to his feet.

"You think this is funny Cas? Screwing with people like this?"

Castiel shook his head, face mere inches away from Dean's, "no Dean, you know what this is about. You know what I want."

Dean didn't think, just drew back a fist and planted it as hard as he could into that smug bastard's face. Castiel didn't move, if anything his cerulean eyes sparkled with mirth as Dean finally released Castiel's coat, opting to cradle his injured hand.

"Screw you Cas" Dean growled, words all venom and acid.

"You broke your hand."

Rolling his eyes, Dean grinned sarcastically, "you think Sherlock?"

Closing the distance between them Castiel laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, releasing healing energy. Dean shuddered as he felt the bones in his hand shift and fuse, could feel the heat of the skin on his back knitting together and felt the bruises lining his body turn hot and then cold as they disappeared.

Stuffing his hands into his jean pockets Dean glared half heartedly at Castiel, "I'm still pissed y'know."

Castiel nodded his acceptance of this fact.

Sighing Dean looked to Cas, eyes wrinkling at the edges. "Why didn't you listen to me about the souls Cas? We had no idea what you were messing with, it could have all gone so wrong."

"I had faith," uttered Castiel, head cocking to the side as he watched Dean.

"Faith in what?"

"You."

It was Dean's turn to cant his head, a hand reaching up to scratch at his scalp in an expression of utter confusion. "Care to run that by me again?"

It took Castiel a moment to reply, he fidgeted with the tie around his neck as he thought about the best way to put it. "I trusted you to do the right thing if it went wrong. I trusted you to stop me if I changed. I knew you would be strong enough no matter what happened."

"Why would you do that to yourself Cas? To stop another apocalypse?"

"Not just that Dean…I want to change this world, make it a better place for all of my father's creation. I couldn't abandon you like the God before me."

Castiel closed the gap between them, fingers tracing Dean's jaw line.

"Cas…" Dean began eyes widening in surprise.

"Don't you trust me?"

He'd only ever trusted Sam in the past; his brother was the only one close enough to Dean to risk trusting. But now Dean realised there was room for another.

ΩΩΩ

It was slow and careful at first. A little awkward even. Neither of them knew quite what to do or who should take the lead.

Dean unzipped his leather jacket and tugged off his shirt.

Castiel let his trench coat and suit fall from his shoulders in unison and then his delicate pale fingers unbuttoned each plastic disc of his white shirt, baring the perfect marble skin underneath.

It was that sight that had Dean throw away all his reservations. This was no time to be coy.

Dean huffed in a breath, a playful smile and a quirk of an eyebrow shot in Castiel's direction. This wasn't his first rodeo with the same sex, but definitely the first with a powerful deity. Oh but if that didn't send all sorts of thrills running through him.

Castiel rolled his eyes, but he subconsciously licked his dry lips, undoing his belt with a sharp snap. He pulled down his trousers and stepped out of his shoes. Bare feet crunched the dried leaves, blue eyes were all hunger and want as Castiel advanced on Dean; sizing up his believer.

Oh and yes. This was an angel, a god, that Dean would let use his body.  
>He was Castiel's true vessel, he wanted him to have him completely; skin and soul.<p>

Hands fastened themselves to Dean's ass, cupping the cheeks through worn denim. Castiel leaned forward, breathing in Dean's scent as he slowly licked a line from Dean's clavicle to his ear.

Flicking his tongue out against Dean's earlobe Castiel's lips hovered millimeters away from Dean's sensitive flesh. "I have you now Dean Winchester."

Shivers rippled down Dean's spine and heat began to settle in his groin.

With a throaty growl Castiel pressed his naked groin into Dean's thigh, and rubbed his nipples against Dean's bare chest. "Strip" the command was more grunt than word, but Dean wasn't about to argue.

Denim jeans and cotton briefs fell from Dean's hips; a masculine swagger stole at Dean's hips in a teasing and strangely alluring way.

Castiel felt himself smiling, but he kept still as he watched Dean grab a prayer cushion out from under one of the pews. Placing it before Castiel, Dean kneeled on it in a mockery of the recently disposed demons. Running his hands up Castiel's thighs, Dean let his head tip forward, mouth brushing against Castiel's groin.

Dean's tongue flicked out, tasting beads of salt on the tip of his tongue. Growing bolder, Dean's lips parted and slipped over the blushed head of Castiel's cock, taking his generous girth past his pink lips. Castiel's hips bucked forward slightly, a groan of pleasure lingering in his throat.

Fingers settled into Dean's hair, gripping the strands with a forced gentleness. Smiling around Castiel's cock, Dean bobbed his head, finding a rhythm; he barely even noticed the nails digging into his scalp. Dean let Castiel's cocks slip out of his mouth, baring the heated flesh to the cool air of the church. Castiel groaned with annoyance, wanting nothing more than to feel the heat of Dean's mouth again.

Pausing, Dean let Castiel shake in want, not saying a word. He wanted this opportunity to make a god _need_him. "Dean, please…" Dean's hungry mouth drove forward, eclipsing Castiel's sensitive cock.

"Ah" Castiel breathed, head lolling forward so that his chin met his chest. As he did so Dean looked up, drops of sweat gathered on freckles and his pupils were blown with desire.

Gripping Castiel's hips, Dean forced himself to swallow and ignore his gag reflex as his god's hips snapped forward, cum pooling in his mouth as Castiel came with a guttural cry of abandon.

Pulling away, Dean licked his lips and kept his hands on Castiel, fingers lightly massaging tense sweaty thighs. "Well I don't know about Hail Mary's and Lord's Prayers Cas, but I'm sure that was a lot more satisfying."

Castiel exhaled a rueful laugh, "I doubt you've ever even spoken them."

Rising to his feet Dean smirked, "you got that right."

ΩΩΩ

Bending Dean over the altar, Dean grunted as his flaming chest met chill stone. With a loving firmness Castiel hummed in appreciation as he ran his fingers over Dean's ass, fingers trailing over Dean's cleft.

Still wet with Dean's saliva, Castiel pushed his cock forward, breaking Dean in two. They groaned and gasped together, the two of them breaking the water's surface and finding pleasure.

Catching a glimpse of Castiel's hand at his side, Dean leaned over to lick a wet line up his forearm, ignoring the rasp of masculine hair, reveling instead in the bitter tang of sweat and the unearthly taste of god; like the smell of ozone in the air before lightning strikes.

In response Castiel thrust deeper, eyes half lidded as he stared down at the perfect line of Dean's spine, tiny little bumps just nudging against the surface. Castiel's hips snapped forward, making Dean cry out; the hoarse sound reverberating around the living church.

Sweat slicked their skin, allowing them to glide over one another effortlessly as Castiel fell out of his rhythm, going into a mad staccato of movements that bruised Dean with his desperation.

But he wasn't one to complain, Dean's throat was dry from cries of ecstasy and he hardly felt the stone altar bouncing against his hips and ribcage. All he could think about was the hot mass inside of him, driving him mad with lust as heat built in his gut and his body tensed on the edge of his orgasm.

Reaching around, Castiel gripped Dean's weeping cock, stroking the blushed flesh in time with his thrusts; delicate fingers tracing lines over engorged veins.

"Dean" he whimpered, forgetting, just for a moment that the world was his. The only thing he cared about right now was this human, right here, who had the power to take everything away.

Jerking one final time Dean came with a garbled, desperate scream on his lips. Castiel's fingers, wet with cum, flew to Dean's hips, gripping them tight as he felt himself fall forward, spurting his seed deep into Dean.

ΩΩΩ

"You're a fucking poet you know that Cas?"

Castiel looked over at him, blush fading as they leaned with their backs against the altar.

"All this flowery shit. Trees growing out of Churches, statues bleeding. It's so romantic it makes me want to gag."

Castiel smirked, blue eyes flashing with amusement. "I know how dense you are Dean Winchester, I had to make it obvious for you."

They smiled at each other, fingers tracing over bare sweaty skin as they bathed in the afterglow of their joint orgasm.

Both breathed deeply, and felt their eyes growing heavy with sleep

Legs interwoven in front of them and arms draped over one another, they were like a puzzle that fit together perfectly. Dean looked up into the curved roof of the church, breathing in the fresh air. He'd never felt more at peace or safer than he did now.

Letting his head fall to the side, Dean stared at his lover's profile. Castiel turned to face him.

To Dean, Castiel's eyes conjured images of spring azure skies that filled the Impala's windscreen. Nothing but the open road and the breeze to meet him. It was that tranquility that he found buried in the depths of Castiel's orbs, and it was offered only to him.

Castiel had also found his spring. In moss green eyes, whose colours changed like swaying leaves in the midday sun.

There was a time when Castiel had basked in Heaven.

There was a time when Castiel had endured in Hell.

And in those times he had possessed scintillating rows of feathers.

But now he was grounded.

This time he rejoiced on Earth.

He had laid down his roots on this small muddy ball.

He had fallen into a valley and he had traded in his feathers for leaves.

He didn't need to go anywhere else.

He had found peace in the depths of a bright green vale.


End file.
